


King of the Jungle

by taykash



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 22:18:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/753707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taykash/pseuds/taykash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The stylists give Aiba a useless whip. Nino finds it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	King of the Jungle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [primroseshows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/primroseshows/gifts).



> I asked primroseshows to give me a prompt and she said "for his animal show, aiba learns how to handle a whip". She probably wanted porn, but I did not comply. Written in about an hour, not beta'd.

When he first shot in South Africa for Tensai, Aiba had been given a whip. “You won’t need to use it,” he’d been assured, “but it looks good with your safari outfit.”

The trainer, Kubosu-san, had not been pleased when he saw the whip. “You’re not going to use that on my lions,” he had pronounced at the producers, and Aiba wasn’t sure how they stood their ground in front of this tall South African who was as tough as the lions he raised. 

So in the end, Aiba spent the shoot cuddling baby lions as the whip stayed uselessly in the stylist’s van. 

South Africa was unlike anything Aiba had ever seen before – it was hot and dry, but not dry enough to constrict his lungs. It was winter in Tokyo, and he’d emerged from the plane into 90 degree weather when he’d stepped on in 20. Aiba never fails to tear up when he reaches a new destination, overwhelmed by his gratitude for these experiences that he’s been allowed to have. He could collect his stories into a book, leather-bound and dedicated to hundreds of people, but it’d take forever to pour his feelings into words. Better to let his life air on TV and show the world how he feels through that medium.

The whip came back with them to Japan, unused and unnoticed, and somehow ended up in his personal bag. A month later, after he had so graciously bestowed lion t-shirts to the members, Nino discovered it.

“Is there something you want to tell us?” he said, lifting the whip out with a raised eyebrow. Aiba’s stomach sank when he saw the look on Nino’s face; it was Ni no Arashi come back to life, an evil plan already sparking within Nino’s eyes.

“It’s from the lions,” Aiba said, hoping he sounded nonchalant as he continued flipping through his magazine. “I forgot to give it back.”

“You were using a whip on the lions?” Jun looked over at Aiba from where he was reading a script. “And they didn’t kill you?”

“You just have to know how to use it,” Aiba shrugged, ignoring Nino who was cracking it experimentally near the couch where Leader was napping.

“And you know how to use it?” Jun’s questioning tone of voice was an attempt to make Aiba squirm, but he would not give in!

“Well enough, I guess.” Aiba leaned back on the couch, taking the magazine with him to stare at an article about – well, apparently Fiji. “Did you know they speak English, Hindustani, _and_ Fijian in Fiji? Wow, we only speak Japanese.”

“Nino, if you hit Ohno-kun, I will not hesitate to tell your mother,” Sho said from behind his newspaper. “Or, more importantly, his mother.”

“Sho-kun’s no fun,” Nino sighed, “but Aiba-chan clearly is. He should give us a lesson in _whipping_.”

Sometimes Aiba regretted ever having met Nino. Nino was stalking around the room like a big cat waiting to pounce on their unsuspecting prey. Aiba had seen it in the wild dozens of times, how the cat pounced and the deer went down kicking. Nino was just as sinewy and cunning as the king of the savannah, but Aiba was not going to lie down and be his unlucky gazelle.

“I don’t have any lions to demonstrate on so I guess I can’t do that,” Aiba mustered up a tone of regret. He’s not stupid or naïve; he just plays so on TV. It came in handy a lot, however; sometimes being able to convincingly fake airheadedness was the only way to get Nino off his back.

“Jun-kun’s just as dangerous as a lion,” Nino began to edge towards Jun. “We can use him.”

“If you hit me with that you will never be able to play another video game again,” Jun threatened, brandishing his script like a sword, “because I will murder you.”

“No one’s getting hit or murdered if it’s not on TV,” Sho said in his most patient, Sakurai-Sho-respected-newscaster voice. “Leave that for the ratings.”

“I think you’d look so pretty, Jun-kun,” Nino crooned, throwing himself on the loveseat next to Jun. “Can’t you imagine it? Your white skin striped red against your black satin sheets…”

“Your head bashed in,” Jun replied, his lips pursed in an expression that Aiba had years ago learned meant trouble. “I’d rather whip you, then hang you up as an example to all in front of the Hachiko statue. Go away, Ninomiya.”

“I think it’d be pretty too,” Ohno piped up sleepily from his couch, his eyes still closed. “I might draw that, I think.”

“See, Leader thinks so, too. Aiba-chan’s obviously been carrying this whip around for a reason. We should put it into good use. Come on, Jun-kun,” Nino whined, poking Jun in the side with the butt of the whip.

“I don’t even know how you think that I would ever let you even _touch_ me that way, Ninomiya,” Jun hissed, slapping at the whip with his script. “Your feet are cold in the middle of the night and you hog all the covers. I don’t even want to share a hotel room with you.”

“So cruel,” Nino sighed, falling back until he was horizontal on the couch, his head lying on the headrest and the whip loosely held to his chest by one hand. “No one loves me except Oh-chan. Forsaken by my members, ignored by the tabloids. I shall become a hermit.”

“Aren’t you already?” Aiba grinned, inwardly breathing a sigh of relief when Nino lets the whip fall to the floor to pull out his DS.

“Your mother will be saddened when I stop coming over to eat her microwaved gyoza,” Nino grunted, the volume on his handheld set as high as it can go. “She will be like, ‘Masa-chan, it pains me to say it, but I simply cannot love you as my son if you do not set things right with that wonderful Kazu boy’.”

“I think my mom will live,” Aiba replied cheerfully, but Nino had already stopped paying attention.

The dressing room fell into companionable silence. The rustle of pages, Nino’s DS, and Leader’s quiet snores became white noise, and Aiba daydreamed of the Kalahari Desert until they were called to go on air.


End file.
